Once upon a time, a beautiful little girl loved to sing with her mother. And she was really good. And people wanted to hear her sing.
And so she sang. And people loved her.
And some well connected producers gave her a platform with an album and a PR machine. And she was really good. And people wanted more.
And she delivered a second album. And people made a lot of money from her and with her.
And she dated famous boys and went to a lot of fancy parties. She made money, and she bought a lot of expensive things. And still people wanted more.
And somewhere in that whole mess, she lost herself.
She had a lot of demands and a harrowing schedule, and she had a lot of pressure to keep a lot of money coming into a machine that made her believe that it had created her.
She won awards and honors because people loved her. Or so they said.
Because when she couldn't handle the pressure, when she looked to escape, when her relationships fell apart, when she started to fail, when her voice gave out, these same people made fun of her.
And the cameras kept rolling and the flash bulbs kept flashing.
And then, when she died, these people started remembering a beautiful little girl who loved to sing. And they thought about some of the haunting messages in her songs, where she wondered out loud if love was really real.
Rest in love, Whitney. You're home now. Jesus does indeed love you. Forgive us.